


Gestures

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately follows the events of 5x05. Killian seeks out Regina, but the last person he expected to find outside her home is Emma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gestures

He isn’t inclined to stick around at the block party. There’s something about Arthur he finds profoundly untrustworthy, the gleam in his eyes when he speaks of the dagger with such determined focus far too familiar for Killian’s liking. He excuses himself quickly, earning a strange look from Arthur while the rest of the royals are too caught up in their own thoughts to pay him any mind.

A lot of things feel far too familiar, not the least of which his desire to _do_ something whilst everyone else wastes time at a party. He needs more information on that bloody sword and the dagger, and the best source of it is conveniently missing.

Would the Croco- _Gold_ even be willing to help him if he could be found? The timid, pathetic (bullied, _terrified_ ) man he’d first met on the deck of the Jolly centuries ago would, of that he is certain. Would he even still _be_ that man now that the curse is removed, now with countless misdeeds and the taste of dark magic haunting his memories?

He hopes so, if not for Gold’s sake than for Emma’s.

No, Gold is nowhere to be found and his wife is apparently even less inclined to attend the party, bringing the number of magic experts in Storybrooke Killian trusts down to one.

Perhaps trust is too strong a word, but for the first time since he’d known her, the Queen’s motives seem completely unselfish. And she seems far more inclined to coming up with a plan than even Emma’s parents, distraught enough and with a young child to worry about as well.

The Queen might roll her eyes and mock his hook, but she will help. It’s enough.

The walk to her home does little to clear his thoughts, the streets deathly quiet and empty once he puts some distance between himself and the party.

Perhaps that’s why the two unmistakable voices carry as well as they do, reaching his ears even before he can turn onto the mayor’s street.

He can’t make out most of the words at first, freezing for a brief moment before resuming his walk, slower than before, his footsteps nearly soundless on the sidewalk. He keeps close to the hedge covering the front yard, too thick for him to see through but not enough to keep the noise out.

_Merlin? We freed Merlin in Camelot?_

He stops dead, breath held as he listens.

_I want to see my son._

_Well, I don’t think he wants to see you._

The front door slams and Killian’s eyes shoot upward, just able to make out the second floor windows over the tops of the hedge. He watches as Henry looks down for a long moment before defiantly shutting the curtains.

_Oh, love. What did you do?_

It is only when her footsteps resume that he realizes he is about to come face-to-face with Emma. A likely very angry, very powerful Emma who will not be pleased to learn he’s been eavesdropping.

An Emma who thinks he doesn’t love her.

She emerges through the front gate and stops once she’s within his sight, staring straight ahead and seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Something in her posture makes his heart seize in his chest and he forgets to be afraid (another strange feeling in a day full of them), her fingers clasped tightly in front of her and her shoulders stiff. She looks younger, somehow, despite the severe hair and clothes.

Killian briefly considers backing away slowly, disappearing behind the corner before she catches sight of him.

That’s when she gasps, her face crumpling, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

His feet move before he can stop them. He’s barely made two strides when her head snatches in his direction, her eyes widening a fraction as he closes the distance between them. He half expects her to disappear in a cloud of smoke, but she stands rooted to her spot in the middle of the street.

“What are you doing here?” She’s trying to sound commanding, but her voice is a shell of what it was when she first appeared in Granny’s, imperious and vengeful and frightening.

He stops in front of her, unable to find his own words for a moment as he takes her in. Her eyes are hard despite her tears and her mouth is screwed up in a tight line, but she can’t keep her fingers still, restlessly clawing at her palms.

He knows he should know better, _knows_ how useless it was when Belle tried to see the good in the Crocodile, but that one crack in her façade flares a tiny spark of hope within him. He dares to reach out, her cold fingers stilling under the warmth of his hand. He keeps his touch light and the flame grows when she doesn‘t pull away.

“What happened, Emma?”

She stares down at his hand, her mouth opening for a moment before she snaps it shut with a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.

He traces his thumb over the back of her palm. “You can tell me.”

For a brief moment her hand tightens in his, so quickly it might have been his imagination. He squashes the urge to gather her into his arms, desperate to hang on to the moment before it breaks.

“I thought I could fix it,” she whispers, her gaze trained firmly on the ground. “I thought I fixed it.”

His mind flashes back to an innocent young girl in a tavern, a stolen voice and happy reunion. He swallows heavily. “Fix what, love?”

Her head snaps up, her features twisting into a snarl, the grip of her hand suddenly crushing his.

“What did you just call me?” Her voice turns colder than the night air around them, and in all the time he has known her Emma Swan has never been more terrifying.

“Love, I -- “

She snatches her hand away with a violent tug. She is unnaturally still as she glares, the tears gone from her face as if by magic. “No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

“Emma -- “

In a cloud of smoke she is gone.

He staggers back as if he’d been slapped, turning and looking wildly down the street as he tries to catch his breath. He waits for his heart to slow its racing, leaning over and resting his elbows on his knees.

_He should have bloody known better._

Distantly he hears a door opening and footsteps approaching behind him, but he remains hunched over, desperately swallowing down the lump in his throat. He can’t bear to turn and look at Regina right now, can’t deal with her particular brand of wit.

“How much did you see?” he asks, his voice thick and foreign to his own ears.

He nearly jumps at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. “I couldn‘t hear much, but I watched Emma leave through the window.” The voice is warm and sympathetic, and Killian has never been more grateful for Robin‘s presence as he is now. “Why don’t you come in for a drink, mate?”

Killian slowly straightens, the knot in his stomach loosening fractionally. “Aye,” he nods, clearing his throat. “I’ve some news.”

“As do we. None of it good, I’m afraid.”

Robin leads him up the walkway and inside, steering him towards the living room where Regina paces restlessly, a glass of spirit in her hand.

“You looked into the dreamcatcher, I take it?”

She stops and turns to face Killian, looking almost as shaken as he feels. “Yes.”

“What did you see?”

She sighs as Robin hands him a glass and motions for him to sit on the couch. “You might want to drink that first.”

He takes a swig and savors the burn of the whiskey, not sure if he even wants to know what has the Queen so rattled. “Why don’t I start with what I just learned from Arthur instead?”

They sit, and they share, and they plan.

The whiskey stays mostly untouched, the gesture meaning far more to Killian than the drink ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at acrobat-elle.tumblr.com. Come say hi!


End file.
